


once you close that door

by palateens



Series: The Opposite of Us [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Break Up, Coming Out, Dissociation, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Infidelity, Fights, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 15:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14621391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: Bitty thought anything would be better than the closet. However he was wrong. This life is so much worse than he could have ever imagined.





	once you close that door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beaniebaneenie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaniebaneenie/gifts).



> for CJ: who put this bug in my ear about a post-kiss world that isn't perfectly rosy 
> 
> I can't stress enough: don't like, don't read.

Jack wins the Cup and the whole world melts away. Bitty wasn’t sure he’d ever get to this point...that either of them would really see a moment like this when everything was perfect. Jack says he wishes he could kiss Bitty and Bitty’s mind goes into autopilot. 

Why can’t they kiss? Why can’t they have a happy ending like everyone else?  Bitty’s mind briefly flickers to a closet at his old middle school, suffocatingly black and ominous. Nothing like this moment, flooded with light, warmth, and Jack. 

Bitty strokes the stubble on Jack’s beard.There’s only him, Jack and the spark between them. He never wants to let this feeling go. Why can’t they have this moment? 

He reaches up, hooking his arms around Jack’s neck. He kisses Jack like it’s the first thing he’s ever done, like the last thing he might ever do. There’s a humming all around them, but it doesn’t bother him. No, it just coaxes Bitty to kiss Jack harder...faster. 

Jack’s taught him a lot about life. About how to keep pushing for what he wants, and how to never stop chasing his dreams. Jack is his dream, everything else is secondary. 

Lips brush against his with a vigour that only love can evoke. His head feels light and his chest is tight, but Bitty can’t find it in him to care. 

They’re perfect. They’ve made it. 

Jack won the Cup. They both won in a way. 

 

_/.\\_ 

 

When he wins the Cup, the first thing Jack thinks is finally. He can finally rest. He doesn’t have anything else to prove to anyone. So when he tells Bitty they can’t actually kiss on ice, and Bitty says, “why can’t we?” he has no good answer. 

In hindsight, there’s a million things Jack could’ve said...should have said. 

He could have said management wasn’t ready for the fallout. His contract could be in danger. What if the team or his parents got the brunt of the backlash? What if people started harassing Bitty on campus? What if Kent gets thrown under the bus after years of denying rumors about their past? What if no one takes him seriously as a player ever again?

What if Jack’s tired of proving himself as a player?

But Jack’s high off adrenaline and having carried the Cup. He doesn’t have the words to articulate what could possibly go wrong. Not even his anxiety is cooperating to say everything could go wrong. The only thing it thinks is, “what if Bitty leaves if I say no?” 

“...Yeah,” Jack says finally. “Yeah.” 

He thinks maybe saying it a second time will affirm that it’s not a bad idea. He does want to kiss Bitty. Maybe he should stop trying to fight the rumors. Maybe he’s just tired of hiding who he is. 

He kisses Bitty in the middle of a crowded arena in front of the entire world. Jack tries to let himself get lost in the kiss, deepening it to make it more memorable, more distracting. 

He can’t hear anything over the sound of his mind screaming to get out of there. He doesn’t, though. He can’t hurt Bitty like that. They made a decision, and now he has to live with it. 

Maman and Papa give them very tight smiles when they meet them on ice. Papa gives him a concerned frown. 

“Are you sure, son? You can’t go back after this,” he warns. 

Jack glances at Bitty. Sweet, passionate, larger than life Bitty. Bitty who’s given up half of his life to make sure that Jack could have a good season. Jack’s only half the man he is when Bitty’s by his side. He can’t let him down. He owes Bitty more than that.

He wraps an arm around Bitty’s shoulder, ignoring the way his breath rasps when he swallows thickly. 

Jack nods curtly at his parents. “I’m sure.” 

They give him their best smiles, congratulating them both and making small talk with their friends. Jack does his best to ignore the crestfallen looks his parents give him when they think no one is looking. 

It’s the kind of grimace he hasn’t seen since the year after the draft, when he said he was going to Samwell. When Papa nodded and said he had to make a few calls. Even back then, Jack wasn’t naive enough to think he got around NCAA regulations with no more than a slap on the wrist. His parents have done everything in their power to get him where he is today. 

They mean well, he knows as much. But when they think Jack’s made a mistake, they’re horrible actors. He just hopes he can prove them wrong.  

 

_/.\\_ 

 

Logically, Bitty knew he couldn’t predict his parents reaction to him coming out on national TV...international TV if he’s being technical...and really, all of social media heard about this story within the first hour after their kiss. 

But he had some possible scenarios in mind. Part of him knew his mother wouldn’t hate him, no matter how long it took for her to come around. And his daddy would be sour for all of an hour until he remembers that Bitty’s boyfriend is a Stanley Cup winning athlete. That Jack is a better athlete than Bitty could ever hope to be, and for some reason Jack chose Bitty. 

He expects his parents to try to call him, and maybe chew him out. He expects some rukus from his dad’s side of the family. He thinks eventually MooMaw will learn to love him again. 

Bitty runs all of these thoughts through his mind the first day or two after the kiss. He doesn’t admit how often he almost pukes to Jack. Nor does he stop baking until well after his hands start to ache and scream for him to stop. It’s not the first time he’s worked through the pain, and it certainly won’t be the last. 

Three days after the kiss, and staying holed up in their apartment in relative solitude, there’s a knock on the front door. Bitty rinses his hands and opens the door, like a fool who doesn’t check the peephole first. 

Richard and Suzanne Bittle stand there, toting large luggages and bags under their eyes. 

“Oh, hi,” Bitty says dumbfounded. “Why don’t you come in?” 

He sets them up in the guest room, fixing them a snack and offering refreshments while keeping a calm, fake grin on his face. Like he were hosting strangers and not his parents after he dropped the biggest bomb of their lives in front of the entire world. 

Admittedly, he’s never been good at telling them things he’s sure they don’t want to hear. 

Once they’re sitting on the couch, nibbling at their food, Suzanne sighs, putting her plate down on the coffee table. She rubs her temples as she stares at the area rug. 

“This is a nice color.” She points to the cobalt blue rug. 

“Thank you, I got it on sale,” Bitty says quietly. Because he learned his skills of deflection from his mother, and they could have an entire conversation without ever referring to their real problems. 

It’s a skill they’ve acquired over the years. A dance only the closest of friends could do. Faintly, he thinks he misses the days when his mom was his best friend, and wonders when that died. 

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on who is asked, Richard is there to interfere with their conversation. 

“Son…” he starts out slowly. “We...jeez, you don’t do anything in halves do you, Junior?” 

Bitty swallows back a low blow about how maybe it comes from his father’s need to overcompensate for all his shortcomings with hypermasculinity. Maybe it isn’t Bitty who does things over the top, but Richard who won’t leave good things alone. 

But he doesn’t, because he’s very sure he’s about to be disowned. So he might as well use his remaining mental capacity to make sure he doesn’t cry before he slams the door on their faces. 

“What he means,” Suzanne says, shooting a glare at Richard. “Is that we saw the finals, and need you to know that we love and support you no matter what.” 

BItty pales. “What?” 

Richard scrubs his face. “Dicky, you’re our son and we love you. Nothing will ever change that, no matter who you are or who you love...unless you become a Nazi...and then we’ll need a to have a serious conversation about your life choices.” 

He laughs harder than he ever has in his entire life. Partially because he can’t believe this is happening. It has to be a dream. But it’s also the best joke his dad’s told in years, and he needs to give credit where credit’s due. 

“You alright, Dicky?” Suzanne asks cautiously. 

Bitty nods, trying to catch his breath. “I’m sorry...I’m not trying to be rude but y’all scared me. I thought...well I was sure—”

“What?” Suzanne interrupts. 

He blushes, clasping his hands together as he buries them in his lap. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He never in his wildest dreams thought…

“I just...expected you to be less supportive,” Bitty admits. “I thought you’d be disappointed or upset or...something.” 

He doesn’t need to look up to tell that his parents are having a silent conversation over his head. Just like they always do whenever he’s gotten himself in trouble. 

Richard sighs. “Junior, you have to understand that we aren’t upset that you’re gay...or that your boyfriend is some big celebrity.” 

Bitty swallows thickly, reading between the lines. “Ok, what are you upset about?” 

“We’re disappointed,” Suzanne emphasizes. “That you came out to the entire world before you came out to us. I...we had people at our front door every hour for the last few days, Dicky. They won’t…”

“What your mother is trying to say is that a lot of people came to us, demanding answers we didn’t have even if we were at liberty to say.” 

Bitty assumes that those answers they were demanding may have included some unsavory language. They may have even included some threats. In which case—  

“So...the luggage isn’t my things?” 

His parents look at him startled. Suzanne takes a deep breath. 

“Dicky, baby, sweetheart,” she says a little tightly. “This is the amount of clothes we could pack with twenty minutes notice. We...may have called Bob and Alicia when things got a little too crazy in Madison. We’re going up to stay with them for a few weeks while the town tire themselves out.” 

Oh, Bitty thinks, they’re running away from Madison, just like him. They don’t really have a choice. Bitty tries to look at the reassuring, yet fake, grins his parents are giving him. He takes a long sip of his water, eyes refusing to meet theirs. 

“If I had told you before I left for Samwell,” he says quietly. “Do you...do you think—”

“You’re our son, Dicky,” Richard says tiredly. “Maybe we would’ve been stupid about it at first. But we really want what’s best for you. Why do you think I took that job in Madison in the first place?” 

He’d always assumed it was because Madison offered Coach more money. Bitty shrugs, feeling naive and uncomfortable. Suzanne pulls him in tightly for a hug. 

“We are sorry, though,” she murmurs. “Whatever we did to make you feel like you couldn’t trust us, I’m am so sorry. We’ll do everything in our power to earn your trust back.” 

Bitty clutches his mother for dear life, feeling something wet slip down his cheek.    

“I wanted to tell you,” he admits. “I just...couldn’t find the words.” 

“You could’ve still kissed Jack, just...over the phone or something. You know, just a hair less flashy,” Richard chirps.   

Bitty laughs through tears as Suzanne rubs his back comfortingly. He listens to his parents reassure him that he’s ok. He’s wanted and he’s loved. He doesn’t notice Jack come in or out of the apartment during that entire time. He doesn’t think much to go check on him when he hears the bedroom door slam in the distance. 

He just wonders if he could’ve gotten away with a smaller, yet equally satisfying, coming out moment to his parents. He wonders if all of this was worth the chaos and drama they seem to be toning down for his sake. 

 

_/.\\_ 

 

When it’s time for the [Stanley Cup] dinner, Jack hopes the press will have died down a little. They spent the better part of the week cooped up in Jack’s apartment by themselves. It only got more cramped after the Bittles decided to pay them a visit. 

They were leaving the next day. Jack would be lying if he said he would miss them. They’re nice enough people. But they talk too much, and just like their son, the Bittles don’t understand how to respect when Jack needs a minute to himself. 

Jack thinks briefly that the dinner will be a nice escape from them. An intimate dinner with his boyfriend and the team that he helped lead to victory. He doesn’t expect as many members of the press to show up. It’s twice what he remembers from the last Cup his father won some twenty years before. 

The press keep their cameras trained on him and Bitty, despite the room full of professional athletes and retired hall of famers. Jack isn’t prepared for the speech endorsing You Can Play that George and her bosses have ready for him. He isn’t prepared for his team to look at him with a mixture of pity and resentment. 

Teams win Cups, Jack repeats in the back of his mind. The press are here for the Falconers, for the team’s historical win. They aren’t there to see Jack fail. They have no interest in waiting for his relationship to crumble. They’re just doing their jobs. He keeps telling himself that it’s nothing, that they can’t hurt him with their words, for the rest of the evening. 

What’s the worst they could do? Claim he’s gay? He’s bisexual and that ship sailed six days ago along with his reputation. 

At some point, Jack excuses himself to go the restroom. Because the room is too hot, too loud, and he can’t think clearly enough to make himself breathe. He ends up in a stall curled around the toilet bowl as he pukes. 

Distantly, he thinks he presses a few buttons on his phone out of muscle memory. He hears something, someone, counting for him. He listens to their voice walk him through grounding exercises. He doesn’t know how long he’s in there, but eventually he gets himself together enough to get up. He finds Tater right outside the bathroom door. 

Tater ushers him to where Bitty and his parents are. They get him in the car and Bitty drives everyone home. The streets are quiet and deserted as they drive home. The only thing that keeps Jack tethered to reality is focusing on the vibrations the car sends through his temple as he rests his forehead on a window. 

He has the faintest idea of how he gets into bed that night. Mostly that Maman gives him a few big hugs and tucks him in while Bitty’s voice snaps and squeaks in the background. Jack falls asleep watching cat videos on his phone that he can only half focus on. They don’t fix his anxiety, but they let him focus on something else long enough to let his breathing flow on its own. 

In the morning, he doesn’t bother to ask Bitty why he was upset the night before. His call history and the twenty cat videos from Kent say it loud and clear. 

 

_/.\\_ 

 

Admittedly, Bitty hadn’t considered the repercussions of being one of the Falconers star SOAPs (significant others and partners). He knew it would involve keeping a good face at public events, but he didn’t account for being a SOAP taking control of every facet of his life. Case in point, the almost weekly meetings with the staff about how to improve their public image.   

“You want all of my social media passwords,” Bitty says slowly. 

George and a few employees from the PR department are sitting across from him and Jack in one of the Falcs’ conference rooms. Well it isn’t just him and Jack. It’s also Jack’s agent, Jack’s manager, and Bob. Not that the distinction matters much. They haven’t had more than a few minutes to themselves in weeks. Jack’s staff and Bob seem to follow them almost everywhere that isn’t a PR event lately. And even then, all bets are off. 

George clears her throat. “It’s nothing personal, Eric. We really should have asked for these weeks ago. But with the flurry of press conferences and charity events...it slipped through the cracks.” 

Bitty clutches his phone in his lap. “So why now? What did I do to remind y’all?”

One of the PR staff, a woman with a flat nose that’s dwarfed by her gigantic glasses, speaks up, “Your latest Youtube video was...not aligned with our brand.” 

Bitty frowns. “I made quiche. What is so goddamn offensive about breakfast food?” 

“It’s not the content of the video itself that we’re concerned about,” she says. “It’s how...vocal you were in the comment section about some of the negative comments made toward you and Jack.” 

“They were calling us fags on my own channel, what was I supposed to do? Ignore them?” Bitty snaps. 

“There is no shame in deleting profane comments,” the other PR person, a man who’s haircut looks more expensive than his suit, says. 

“I can’t pretend they didn’t happen,” Bitty argues, leaning forward. 

“Another alternative is to disable commenting on your videos,” he continues. 

“But I want my viewers to interact with my videos,” Bitty says as he slumps against his chair. “Y’all aren’t getting it. My followers are like family. We have our tight knit community. We care for each other.” 

“That may have been true in the past, Eric,” George says calmly. “But you have to understand that your audience has quintupled since the Stanley Cup Finals. Many of them aren’t there for your content, but to pass judgement on you. And on our organization by proxy. Whatever you do or say on that channel is subject to heavy public scrutiny.” 

Bitty hums, nodding his head. He stares at the conference table. This is why he never told his friends the name of his channel. It wasn’t for them, and it never could be. His channel is a secret world where he can create and support whatever he wants. It is...was an oasis from everyone else. Something special for just him and his fans. 

He feels Jack squeeze his shoulder. Bitty takes a deep breath. 

“Alright, I guess you’re going to do what you have to. So...I guess there’s no sense in fighting it,” Bitty says. 

George gives an approving nod. As if there was any uncertainty that she wouldn’t get her way. Anything she says needs to happen does. Regardless of what Bitty thinks. He sighs as he writes his handles and passwords down on a form for the PR staff. 

“There goes my free speech,” he says bitterly after they’ve left the training facility. 

“Don’t think of it that way, son,” Bob says with a firm clap to his back. 

Bitty has to stop himself from flinching at Bob’s hand. He hates people touching him like this. When he’s upset he’d rather be given personal space,. Not denied the little bit of autonomy he has left as he’s all but pushed into the car. 

“Think of it as a security system,” Bob continues as their driver/bodyguard (because they have one of those now) starts the car. “This way, you won’t have to worry about what people out there are saying. You can focus on making videos.” 

Jack wraps his arm around Bitty’s shoulder. Bitty leans into the touch, trying to tell himself that it’s ok for Jack to be touching him right now. It doesn’t make his skin crawl at all. 

“Sure,” Bitty says. “But how long until they’re telling me what I can and can’t post? When are they going to start dictating what I put on my channel?” 

“Don’t worry,” Bob says. “It won’t come to that.” 

Unfortunately, the real answer is two months and sixteen days. But he doesn’t know that yet. Someday soon, Bitty would know what it really feels like to have his public voice completely ripped away from him. He would learn to hate smiling in public and the word scrumptious. 

He would learn to hate those two idiots from the PR department (Annette and David he’d learn their names one day) because they have too many suggestions, too many edits. One day, he’ll learn that they’re real bitches when they don’t get exactly their way. 

One day he’ll message a few of his favorite followers to let them know where to contact him while he’s one hiatus. One day he’ll delete every video he’s ever made because he can’t look at them with disgust. Hockey will ruin his channel, the last peace of his life outside of Jack. 

But that day isn’t today. 

Today, Bitty fumes in the back seat of Jack’s town car, wondering if a single moment was worth the months that came after it. 

 

_/.\\_ 

 

They go on so many PR events that summer. Jack and Bitty become the face of queer ice sports. The first out Stanley Cup champion dating the first out NCAA captain. They’re a power couple, a fairytale to end all fairy tales. 

They’re an inspiration to queer people everywhere, one You Can Play employee tells them as he ushers them from a photo shoot to a charity event. 

Everything Jack and Bitty do that summer is either for their teams or for their public image. Samwell is happily taking credit for creating a safe environment for two queer athletes to shine and fall in love. The Falconers are taking both the credit and blame from “allowing” a player to come out like he did. 

George admits that she’s on thin ice with the owner and GM. Jack can’t help but feel responsible. Responsible for the bags under George’s eyes, the way Bitty has to run himself ragged all over town doing photo OPs, and how all of their parents had to conveniently go on vacation in the midst of the media firestorm. Jack feels responsible for putting this burden on them, so he keeps working to make their lives easier. 

He goes to the photo shoots, signings, interviews, and press events. He does everything with a smile and an arm around Bitty’s waist. Even when he’s too drained from social contact to keep up the charade. Even when he’s tired of alway being attached at the hip to Bitty. Even when people stop treating them like people and more like an entity of perfect smiles and sound bites, Jack keeps trudging along. 

His life is no longer his own. Not his schedule, nor his privacy or even his relationship. He doesn’t have control of anything anymore. Except for how well he fakes that everything is ok. 

He learns how to smile through shortened breath and researches new meds. He learns how to pocket dial Kent when he gets a minute to go the restroom. He fixates on the sound of Kent’s voice because he gets it. He gets what Jack is going through. 

“This was a terrible mistake,” he says one afternoon in a port-a-potty at a Pride event. 

Bitty would take it personally and ask if Jack regrets taking a chance on them, on their love. Bitty would never let him live it down. 

Kent just sighs. “Zimms, mistake or not it’s real and it’s your life. If you need to tap out, go tell your boy and head on home.” 

“I can’t,” Jack says. 

“Why not?” 

Because they have to be at the event all day, Jack thinks. Because this was an event set up by his agent along with the Falconers. Because he’s worried that he’ll get traded any day now if he doesn’t keep management perfectly happy. He doesn’t have the words to articulate why he can’t back out now—  

“Hey, forget I said anything,” Kent say softly. “I get it, ok? It’s hockey and you’re the league’s offseason meal ticket. It fucking sucks, and you deserve a hell of a lot better. I get it.” 

Jack swallows thickly. This is why he goes to Kent for emergencies. Because Bitty asks why not and thinks any answer is a yes. Kent listens and waits for Jack’s real answer. He hears it in the words Jack doesn’t say. 

“You think you can make it or should I call someone to help you get back out there?” Kent asks. 

Jack shakes his head. “I’m better now, thanks, Kenny.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yea, I promise,” Jack says. 

Kent sighs like he knows Jack is lying. Which is fair. Kent more than anyone is fluent in the art of Jack’s weak attempts at normalcy. A term that isn’t a term so much as a poorly constructed buzzword invented by Coolidge’s PR people. Which, is really inconsequential except that it distracts Jack for long enough to open the door of the port-au-potty. 

He hangs up the phone when he sees Bitty waiting a few feet away for him. Bitty looks up from his phone, clearly annoyed but giving Jack a faint attempt at a smile. Jack tries to do the same, most likely failing. 

They get through the rest of the event and get home before confining themselves to separate rooms. They never get any alone time anymore, so it makes sense that after spending all day touching, kissing, and smiling for the cameras that they’d be tired of doing it. They sleep in separate beds. Jack tries to ignore the tired, angry looks Bitty gives him every morning before they head out to do...whatever’s on the schedule for that day. 

Jack’s trying his best for him, for them. The least Bitty could do is meet him halfway. 

 

_/.\\_ 

 

Jack’s Cup day lands on his birthday. It’s fitting because his last name is at the end of the roster, but also because he’s always lived and breathed hockey. He always thought that this would be the best day of his life. He would be surrounded by friends and family while finally being recognized for all the work he’s put into his career. A small part of him thought...naively wished that there would be a single perfect moment when everything made sense. When his entire life would feel culminated in this moment of happiness. Then his stomach would settle, and maybe the chatter in his brain would learn to shut up better if not entirely. 

He always thought that getting the Cup would mean true happiness. Jack learns on his Cup day that his is unfortunately very wrong. 

He’s locked in the bedroom closet. Everyone he’s close to—college friends, teammates, his parents and their friends—are partying in the living room, drinking out of the cup like there’s no tomorrow. He wanted to do something fun yet intimate for the people who got him where his is now. He didn’t expect to stare down the Cup and feel nothing but disappointment. 

The Cup is supposed to be magical. It’s supposed to make dreams come true, and grant wishes beyond a player’s wildest dreams. It was supposed to fix everything that’s broken and fucked up about Jack. 

He was able to look at it for all of three minutes before excusing himself to use the restroom. Which was really just a weak attempt to get as far away from that thing as possible. He won it. He deserves to enjoy that stupid trophy. He’s given every part of himself to get it—his youth, his body, his father, and his happiness. Wasn’t it supposed to be worth it? Shouldn’t he feel accomplished and at peace? 

The Cup isn’t enough. It was never going to give him the things he wants, he realizes grimmly as he hyperventilates in a literal closet. He has nothing to hide anymore. He’s done everything right. Why does he feel so fucking empty? 

There’s a pounding on the closet door. Vaguely, Jack thinks the knocking’s been going on for a while. 

He swallows, croaking through chapped lips, “Yes?” 

“Jack, let me in,” Bitty says. 

Jack shakes his head. He can’t...He loves Bitty but Bitty cares more about fixing the temporary issues than letting Jack process. He’ll fester and nag until Jack pretends to be ok enough for him. 

“No,” Jack finally manages to say. 

Bitty sighs loudly, hitting his head against the closet door with a loud thunk. Something pushes against Jack’s foot. He looks down. Bitty’s slipped his cell phone under the door. The screen says he’s calling Kent. 

“Have fun in there,” Bitty says just loud enough for him to hear. “Y’all deserve each other.” 

Jack pales. What is he supposed to do? He can’t make things right. He can’t explain why he needs Kent without hurting Bitty. He can’t be the face of queer athletes that the Falcs want him to be. He can’t live up to his father’s legacy. He can’t keep anyone happy. He doesn’t know how to be happy without hockey, what good has that done him?

He can’t breathe. He feels his face go numb. There are purple splotches in his vision. 

“Zimms!” comes through his phone loud enough for him to register. 

Jack clutches the phone as he puts it on speaker. 

“Kenny?” he says, rasping. “I-I can’t…I can’t...breathe.” 

“Ok, listen to the sound of my voice,” Kent says calmly. “Are you safe? Are you somewhere quiet?” 

“Yes,” 

“Good,” Kent continues,“you’re safe. Remember that. Now do you think we can try breathing? We’ll take it one step at a time and I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Ok,” Jack says quietly. 

Kenny helps him get his breathing back on track. He listens to the sound of Kenny’s voice as he makes him hold air in his lungs long enough to get oxygen through to his brain. He’s still upset. He’s still shaking and two seconds away from breaking down in tears. But Kenny talks like he’s doing so great. Like he’s done things worth celebrating in his life. 

“Do you want some company?” Kent asks after a while. 

“I...yes,” Jack says. 

Because he’s tired and feels like he could collapse into someone’s arms. 

“Can I text your mom to come hug you? You can tell me no.” 

“No...uh, I mean that would be great,” Jack says. “Thanks, Kenny.” 

“No problem, Jack.” 

Soon after, Maman unlocks the closet door, gathering him into her arms. She tucks him into bed with a weighted blanket on top of him and one of her older movies playing on a laptop next to him. 

“Hey,” Kent says eventually. “You good? I can keep the call going if you want but it sounds like you’re busy.” 

“No,” Jack says quickly, almost desperately. “Can you stay? Please.” 

Kent chuckles. Jack closes his eyes and imagines the feeling of Kent’s fingers running through his hair. The way Kent used to do whenever Jack’s anxiety was on high. 

“Sure, Zimms, anything for you.” 

Jack falls asleep on his Cup day with his phone close to his chest. Eventually Bitty clamours into bed, taking away the laptop and ending the call with a soft yet curt “goodnight, Kent.” But he leaves the phone with Jack. 

“Thanks,” Jack murmurs. 

Bitty tenses. He shifts on his side of the bed. Jack starts to sit up, wondering what’s wrong. But Bitty scoots backwards, putting his weight against Jack’s chest. 

“You’re welcome,” Bitty says tightly. 

“I love you,” he says. 

Because it’s true. He loves Bitty. He wouldn’t be putting up with this absolute hell if he didn’t. 

“I...I know,” Bitty says. “Get some sleep, sweetpea.” 

Jack tries to wave off how Bitty didn’t say “I love you.” He’s too tired of everything to care. 

 

_/.\\_ 

 

The day before Bitty heads back to Samwell for pre-season training, the Falconers’ PR team drops the bomb on him. Any videos he wants to make have to be approved two weeks in advance. He’s a college student. He’s a division one college athlete, and team captain. The entire summer they’ve turned his social media into an offshoot of their brand. And now he can’t even dictate what he films. 

Bitty leaves the weekly PR meeting fuming. He ignores Jack’s shouts behind him as he hops into the car by himself. He ignores Jack as their driver takes them home. The first thing he does when they walk into the apartment is head for the kitchen. 

He gets out ingredients for bread dough so he can get his frustration out. He thinks about working on some jam too. Jack will need those when Bitty’s gone. He’ll probably need homemade almond butter too—  

“Eric!” Jack shouts. 

Bitty whips his head around so fast it strains his neck. He winces. 

“What?” 

Jack’s jaw slacks a bit. Bitty imagines that if he were anyone else, his lower jaw would be on the floor. 

“Have you heard a single word I’ve said?” 

“Honestly no,” Bitty says before dropping supplies on the kitchen island. 

“We need to talk about this.”

“About what?” Bitty half ignores him as he starts mixing the grain and yeast together. 

“About how you reacted back there,” Jack says. “You can’t talk to George like that. She’s my boss—”

Bitty huffs. “And there lies the problem, Jack. She’s your boss, not mine. I don’t give a flying fuck what she thinks.” 

“But I  _ do _ .” 

“Well that’s just too bad for you.” 

Jack groans. Bitty sees him tugging his hair out of the corner of his eye.

“I know it’s a lot, but you’re being unfair,” Jack says. 

“Unfair?” Bitty sneers. “They took away my accounts, boss me around for three months—”

“Two months,” Jack corrects. 

Bitty pushes on, he hasn’t gotten a single moment to complain all fucking summer. He’s so sick of being the good and dutiful boyfriend. He isn’t a fucking robot who can bend to the managers’ will. He isn’t Jack. 

“And now I can’t use my channel, Jack?” 

“You still can.”

“It’s not the same and you know that,” Bitty argues. “Don’t you get it? That was the last thing that was mine. Just mine, Jack. Not for your team or mine or our families or friends.” 

Jack sighs, coming up behind Bitty. “I know this has been hard on you—”

He puts his hands on Bitty’s shoulders. Bitty flinches. He can’t take it anymore. 

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about what it’s like for me,” Bitty snaps. “You’re so fucking busy with your head stuck up your ass with Parson on speed dial to see what I’m dealing with.” 

Jack’s hands tense. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think…”

“I know you didn’t,” Bitty says. “How many fucking times have I asked you to talk to me? How much do I need to beg for you to tell me what the fuck is going on in your brain before you stop shrugging me off for Kent fucking Parson?” 

“I thought you didn’t mind,” Jack says. “You know—”

Bitty lets out a strangled groan. “I swear to everything on this fucking planet, if you say one word about your fucking relationship with him being ‘purely physical’ or having a fucking expiration date, I will strangle myself.” 

He feels Jack’s hands slide off him like a rotten banana peel slipping off the counter in his mom’s kitchen. Like dirt sliding off Bitty’s skin in the shower. Something he could live with for a while but in the end should really do without.    

“There’s nothing going on between us,” Jack says. “He’s just a friend.” 

“Friend? Six months ago you could barely say his name,” Bitty sneers. “you’re so fucking obsessed with what  _ Kenny  _ will say you don’t talk to me anymore.”  

“What do you want me to say?”            

Bitty thinks for a moment. He should be honest and say something vulnerable like “I want to know I still matter to you.” Or something profound and mature like “I want to make sure our goals and interests are still aligned.” But Bitty’s emotionally exhausted of dealing with Jack’s life and his hands are already aching. He doesn’t want to say something that will open a three hour conversation. He just wants to say something that will hurt Jack as much as this entire summer’s hurt him. 

“I want you to say that you’ll never love me as much as you love him,” Bitty says instead. 

He hears Jack take a sharp breath behind him. 

“That’s not true,” Jack insists. 

Bitty doesn’t turn around, just sinks his hands deeper into the bread dough. 

“Bullshit, Jack,” he says. “Who’s the first person you go to when things get hard?” 

“You…” 

“That’s not even close to true,” Bitty says. “You call Kent, and then maybe your Mama. And then you remember I exist.” 

Jack’s breathing gets audible. Bitty closes his eyes. He thinks about the elasticity of dough. Some types of dough can be stretched for a foot or two with ease. Some can’t be touched too often without crumbling. Whatever the case, every ball of dough has its limits, its breaking point. Bitty squeezes the dough until it breaks in his palms, wondering if injured people can feel that moment when their bones snap. He wonders how late is too late. 

“Sometimes I wonder…if Kent was a girl if you would’ve stayed with him,” Bitty says. 

He hears Jack swallow. “You don’t know anything,” he says, almost angrily. 

“I guess I don’t,” Bitty admits, shaking his head. “Just...go already Jack. I’m sure he’ll want to hear how I fucked you up this time.” 

“You don’t—” Jack cuts himself off, walking toward the bedroom without another word. 

The door slams shut. Bitty shakes his head. He can’t fix Jack. He can’t make his parents’ lives easier. He isn’t a good SOAP, and he’s an even shittier friend given how terribly he’s kept up with everyone over the summer. He doesn’t know the first thing about mental illness. He’s tired of calling Kent and handing the phone over to Jack. But what else can he do? He’s a failure. 

So he bakes until the fucking dawn. He bakes until his wrists are numb and swollen. Until Jack comes back from his morning run and wraps him in a blanket, forcing him to nap. 

He misses the first practice of the year, but Bitty couldn’t care less.   

 

_/.\\_ 

 

The preseason for both of them gets into high gear. Bitty’s senior year starts after that. He soon regrets going back to Samwell at all. Everyone wants to talk to him, he’s the biggest thing on campus since Jack’s first semester there. 

Except no one really cares about Bitty. They don’t want to listen to him as a captain or classmate, they’d rather know about Jack. He has a hard time wrangling the freshmen because all they want to hear about is his fucking boyfriend. 

In some ways, it’s not too different from last year. Last year people would ask after Jack and talk about how proud Bitty must be of his best friend. This year it’s a lot of the same with a much higher frequency and lack of personal boundaries. 

People want to know about how Jack’s feeling about this season and how he (not he and Bitty, not Bitty at all or ever) is dealing with the homophobia in hockey. People ask about Jack’s habits, what’s it’s like to have him as a partner...sometimes they ask about how big his dick is. They all want to know what Jack is up to. Bitty’s just the messenger. The unwitting observer on the most fascinating professional athlete of the moment. 

He hears the way some people talk about him when his back is turned. Their jealousy saying he’s not good enough for Jack, and that they’d do much better by him. Bitty tries to drown out the noise. He tries to let his classmates have their delusional fantasies. 

Somedays, however, it’s too much. There’s too many questions, too many strangers, and too many entitled assholes to wade through. Usually, he lets people off with a cheery smile and a quip about how he and Jack are both trying their hardest this hockey season. 

But on days like this, he can only mutter under his breath for sweet relief, thinking: 

_ Go ahead, take him.  _

The worst part is, Bitty always means it.

 

_/.\\_ 

 

Pre-season as a second year player, and alternate captain, means Jack doesn’t actually have to play. Pre-season games are mostly for the younger guys to prove their merit and score some ice time while the coaches figure out if they can use them that season. Jack, along with most of the vets, gets to sit in a box together, mingling and placing bets on the younger guys. 

Meaning he has no say or control when the younger guys get brutally checked in every play by the Devils’ players. The arena would normally be too loud to hear what they’re saying on ice. But the audience is abnormally silent. Almost like they want to hear what the Devils have to say about the Falcs. 

Jack pales when some slurs make their way up the rink and into his ears. The Devils are homophobic fucks, taking their discomfort out on Jack’s teammates. They can’t get to him so they might as well demolish anyone associated with him. 

There are murmurs all around him. Jack thinks he hears Marty cursing in French about how this doesn’t bode well for the regular season. The Devils keep playing dirty, keep using unnecessary force in plays that don’t require any at all. But the refs won’t do their fucking jobs. High sticking occurs, two Falcs have to be helped off the ice after nasty checks, but still no refs until a Devil punches one of their guys in the face. Even then, it’s only because their guy decided to fight back after being given a nasty hit to the eye. The entire rink erupts into violence. Instead of pairing up normally, every Devil goes after one of their players. 

This is all his fault, Jack thinks. He’s responsible for every hit and slur spewed at his team. He’s the reason their season is going to be hard at best, physically scarring at worst. He tried so hard. He spent the entire offseason working his ass off to make this season, no, this game more manageable. It did nothing except save his contract on this team by a hair. 

Jack squeezes his hands, pulling his phone out. He calls a number without looking away from the carnage on ice. The call goes straight to voicemail. 

_ Hey, Zimms. I’m at a press conference right now. I need you to do me a favor alright? Breathe in really deep, hold it for seven counts. Let it out nice and slow...and then call your mom. I promise it’ll be alright. I’ll call you when I’m done here, I promise. _

Jack nods. His eyes get blurry and wet. 

_ Oh, _ Kent adds,  _ if you were wondering, I got a different number for everyone else. This line is just for you, bud. Had to with how much you were eating up my phone bill.  _

Jack laughs. Thirdy shoots him a worried frown. He shakes his head as he stands up. 

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Thirdy. 

“Sure, holler if you need us,” Thirdy says. 

“I will,” Jack promises.

For once, he know he’ll keep his word. It’s what Kenny would want him to do. 

 

_/.\\_ 

 

Jack doesn’t tell Bitty how the pre-season is going for the Falcs. He doesn’t tell Bitty much of anything anymore unless it’s brimming with positivity. Bitty has to keep himself from hurling sometimes. Nothing’s ok where Jack’s career is concerned. Their whole lives may never be ok again. Why does Jack have to sugar coat that all the fucking time? 

Bitty is sick and tired of not being allowed to feel upset, even resentful, of the life they’ve been shoved into. He knows it’s his own goddamn fault. He doesn’t hate himself any less than he hates Jack for sticking them in this situation. 

Bitty watches a stream of one of Jack’s pre-season games, trying not puke with how often the Falcs get attacked by the Oilers. He takes deep breaths, begging Nursey and Dex to check him into the boards as much as fucking possible during practices. Nursey refuses to do it, but Dex eventually gives in. It takes everything in Bitty not to puke after the fifth check. 

He has a fitful night of sleep before the last preseason game. He’s the first openly gay captain, dating the NHL’s first openly gay (bisexual, Jack keeps correcting) player. Bitty has a huge target on his back, and the C on his chest telling every player exactly who he is. What if it gets worse in the regular season?

The NCAA, fortunately, has better refs than some of the ones in the NHL. They’re better at calling penalties and sending players to the sin bin when they’re grossly out of line. One player from Boston College gets ejected from a game for the number of slurs he puts out. 

The refs are better, but on a whole the players are about the same. 

Bitty calls Jack that night while everyone is downstairs throwing a kegster. He knows Ransom, Holster, and Lardo are downstairs visiting the team, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He wipes tears away from his face as Jack picks up the phone. 

“Bits? What’s wrong,” he asks. 

“I’m so sick of hockey, Jack,” Bitty says honestly. “I would quit today if I wasn’t the captain.” 

“Bud,” he says softly. “I’m sorry. Was it...the other team?” 

“Yea, and the crowd, and the fucking school expecting me to be their gay savior or whatever when they remember I exist,” Bitty says. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean they weren’t there for me, or even the team. They came to see if you’d show up.” 

“Bits—”

“I feel like you’re fucking stand-in,” he admits on an impulse. “I don’t...I don’t get to have my own life anymore, Jack. I’m just an accessory in yours.” 

He hears Jack rasp. Part of him wishes he could hug him before he goes spiralling into another fucking anxiety attack. The rest of him doesn’t fucking care. He’s alone in his own life...in  _ Jack’s  _ life really.   

“I’m sorry,” Jack says finally. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t...Bits I don’t know how to talk to you anymore. Everything’s a fight with us.” 

Bitty chuckles, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of one of Jack’s old flannels. “That makes two of us.” 

“So what do we do?” 

Bitty licks his lips, staring at his hand as it rests in his lap. “I don’t know. I’m not...I can’t have this discussion over the phone.” 

“Ok,” Jack says. “We’ll, uh, talk soon. Maybe next weekend? You’ll be in town for the home opener.” 

“Right,” Bitty says with a resigned sigh. “I’ll, uh, be there.” 

Not like I have a choice, he doesn’t say. 

“Ok, I’ll...talk to you later,” 

“Say hi to Kent for me,” he says. 

Because even when he doesn’t have the energy to admit things are broken, he has enough pettiness left in him to dig into an old wound. 

Instead of fighting, Jack says, “I will,” and hangs up without another word. 

Bitty groans into his pillow, falling asleep feeling completely lost in his own life. 

 

_/.\\_ 

 

“Annette says she needs you to come in next week for an interview,” Jack says one night while they’re skyping in bed. 

At one point, this was Bitty’s favorite part of the day. But now, it’s an obligation and a nuisance. 

“That’s nice for her,” Bitty mutters, rolling his eyes as he picks at his pajama pants. 

“Bits…”

“What? Jack, I’m booked solid next week,” he says. 

Jack rolls his eyes. “All of next week? Even Wednesday when you don’t have class?” 

Bitty knows Jack’s right but he’s sick of bending to the will of the fucking PR department. 

“Yes even Wednesday,” he snaps. “I have a fucking life here, Jack. Remember that?” 

Jack glares. “Of course I do. You won’t shut up about it.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m sick of you playing the martyr,  _ Eric _ ,” Jack says. “You’re not the only one making sacrifices.” 

“Oh yes please,” he says with a snort. “Tell me all about how hard it is to be a millionaire athlete with a team of people to do everything for you—”

“That’s not fair—”

“You mean like how it’s not fair that I have to leave school every time your fucking team needs us to smile pretty for the cameras? Or how I have to be their fucking mannequin and dress masculine enough for their delicate sensibilities?” 

Jack’s face goes red. If Bitty weren’t so pissed, he’d laugh. 

“You came to an interview in hot pants and a crop top!”

Bitty sneers. “I had to drop my plans for that night and drive straight to Providence. I didn’t exactly have time to change!”

“That’s not my fault.”

“So therefore it’s mine?” Bitty demands.

“You’re the one who wanted to come out!” 

“You didn’t stop me!” 

“Because I didn’t know what to say. You were so happy. How could I say no to you?” 

Bitty opens his mouth, closing it almost immediately afterward. Without taking his eyes off Jack, he reaches for Señor Bun. He hugs the rabbit tightly to his chest. 

“W-what are you saying?” 

He hopes his eyes are saying everything his eyes can’t. That he’s tired, but he’s also scared. Scared of what he’ll have to do to make life work without Jack. Scared of who he is when he doesn’t have a rich boyfriend to fall back on. 

Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing.” 

Maybe a few months ago, Bitty would’ve dug deeper. He would’ve gotten to the bottom of their

problems and made Jack talk things out. But all he can do now is nod carefully. 

“Alright, I’ll talk to you later then,” he says before hanging up.

There’s no point in having another stupid argument, he thinks. One more won’t fix their relationship. 

 

_/.\\_ 

 

November and December are a blur of dismal signings and press events. It’s just like the summer, except he has to go out of his way and miss class in order to be there. His professors are lenient. But he sees the way they roll their eyes. As if he thinks he’s better than them when he’d like nothing more than to stay in class. 

It’s the day before Jack’s bye week. He’s playing the Bruins in Boston so Bitty doesn’t have to go far for the Falconers this time. Bitty gets done with his game and then almost immediately has to leave. He barely gets a shower in before Ford’s shouting that Jack’s driver is waiting outside for him. 

Bitty groans, trudging out of the locker room. He can’t imagine this being the rest of his fucking life. But he follows Jack’s driver to the car and pretends to be on his phone. The man is nice enough, but Bitty resents him out of association to all of this. He’s the one who drags Bitty to events he hates surrounded by people he hates. Bitty can’t find it in himself to be nice to this man, Neil, Bitty thinks his name is. So he keeps his mouth shut the entire ride to the stadium.

He gets there in time for the second period to start, finding a seat next to Carrie Robinson. 

“Hey, Eric,” she says kindly. “Excited for the bye week?”   

Honestly, he was trying to forget that Jack would have an entire week with nothing to do but visit his parents or hang around the Haus. Bitty grins softly for her. Drumming up a conversation about her daughter. At least that’s a safe topic. He has no ill will toward a five year old with a love of fairies. 

He keeps a fucking smile on his face for the rest of the game, even keeping his mouth shut when the refs make a few shitty calls in favor of the Bruins. He’s gotten used to lying with his facial expressions. It’s about the only good thing he’s gotten out of the last seven months of his life. 

The game goes as they all have this season. The refs are getting a bit more active as the players get tired of beating the shit out of the Falconers. It’s still not great hockey, the Bruins are playing dirty with the exception of one or two of them, but it’s restrained compared to the start of the season. 

When the game is over, Jack gets tied up with interviews until George pulls him out. He and Bitty get shoved into a different room to talk to some lifestyle magazine about their plans for bye week. 

“We aren’t going far since Eric has classes,” Jack says with a hand on Bitty’s waist. 

“I’m sure Eric would rather go on a tropical vacation than stay at school,” the interviewer chirps. 

Bitty chuckles like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. He hates his life. 

“You got me there,” Bitty lies. “But school comes first. Besides, we can go on vacation next year.” 

He says it because the PR department has trained him to talk like that. In big vague terms that suggest he and Jack will someday settle down and get married. They need to prove to hockey fans and the entire country that gay men are just as domestic and monogamous as “everyone else.” So he talks with the interviewer about places he wishes they could visit. He kisses Jack’s cheek when the interviewer suggests that they start planning for their honeymoon. 

Bitty says, “Well, we have some time to figure that out.” 

His voice is soft as he stuffs down his panic. He can see the brief lit of fear in Jack’s eyes too. The swirling current of molten ambiguity and dread flowing through them. They’ve barely made it six months like this. How can they stand years together? A lifetime? He can’t imagine a life where this is his normal—trapped in mildly conservative straight men attire with a fake smile and empty laugh. 

They drive back to Jack’s hotel room in relative silence. This was the last game of a long roadie, but only half the guys decided to head back to Providence that night. When Bitty finds out that no one from the team is on their floor, he sighs. 

Their eyes never meet. Bitty is more relieved than he’d like to admit. He can barely stand to be in the same room as Jack. This person that people keep telling him he should cherish with all his heart. And for what? An empty lie of a relationship he can barely keep together?

Bitty shakes his head, gripping his hands tightly as Jack opens their room door for him. He can’t live like this another day. When he said they should kiss, he thought things would get better. He thought their relationship would soar. Bitty thought anything would be better than the closet. 

However he was wrong. This life is so much worse than he could have ever imagined.       

 

_/.\\_ 

 

The last thing Jack wants to do after the shit roadie the Falconers just had is go home with _ Eric _ . It’s an epiphany that hits him hard in the gut. He thinks they could’ve gone straight from the stadium back to Providence. But he can’t go home right now, and he won’t deal with Bitty more than necessary. 

He doesn’t remember the last time they said “I love you” to each other in private. Away from the cameras, microphones, and witnesses. Jack scrubs his face as he and Bitty walk into his hotel room. 

“This isn’t working,” Jack says out loud. 

Bitty chuckles. “What tipped you off?” 

Jack groans. “Crisse, Bits, I’m trying to have a real conversation with you.” 

Bitty pales, sitting down stiffly on the bed. “Alright, you want to talk? About what?” 

“What...what are we doing here? We’re miserable.” 

“That’s an understatement, Jack,” he says. Bitty takes a deep breath. “But if I had to guess? You’re probably as miserable as I am. Sick of...everything...each other.”

Jack bites his lip, sitting next to Bitty. “What do we do?”

“What can we do?” 

“We could...stop...being together?”

He sees Bitty grip his knees tightly in the corner of his eye. Bitty shakes his head. 

“You know that isn’t an option,” Bitty says. “They’ll ruin your career and eat us both alive. We can’t...we gotta keep going to fucking PR events. Maybe someday...but not right now.” 

Jack chuckles. “Maybe someday we can break up?” 

“Yep,” Bitty says, popping the “p” for emphasis. 

Jack falls backward against the bed, laughing like an idiot. “We’re miserable. I’m miserable, Bits. I...I hate being with you.” 

Bitty huffs, but then it turns into a laugh. “Me too,” he says quietly. “I’m so done being your boyfriend. I’d leave right now if I could.” 

Jack laughs harder as Bitty falls on the bed next to him. He turns to face Bitty who is laughing harder than Jack’s seen in close to a year. There’s an ache in his chest. He almost reaches out to brush some hair out of Bitty’s face. He could just kiss Bitty from this distance…

He could, but he won’t. There’s an entire “official” Instagram account out there that reminds him why he’s so sick of kissing someone who doesn’t want him. 

“Let’s do it,” Jack says. “Let’s break up.” 

Bitty looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “We just talked about—”

“I know,” Jack cuts him off. “But...the world doesn’t need to know right?”

Bitty sits up. He traces patterns into the comforter beneath them. 

“So we what? Pretend we’re still together but just for public obligations?”

Jack shrugs. “Why not? How different would it be than what we do now.” 

Bitty nods. “Alright. But...I need to get some things off my chest. To make this easier. Because…” 

He watches Bitty wipe his eyes furiously. He stops himself from reaching out to hug him. 

“This is gonna be hard, and I’m already pissed at you for suggesting it. But I know you’re right,” Bitty says. 

“Ok, I’m mad at you too,” Jack admits. 

Bitty moves back, offended.  “For what?” 

Jack sighs, rubbing his face. Bitty wants to make breaking up easier? He can do that. 

“For giving up on us. For not supporting my career—”

“How dare you—”

“For pushing me into the worst decision of my life!”    

“If you weren’t so fucking obsessed with hockey, this never would’ve happened in the first place!” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Bitty gets up, walking toward the door without a glance back. “If your daddy hadn’t paid the school off, you never would’ve played at Samwell. You should’ve retired from hockey while you could. If this season has shown me anything...it’s that you’ll rip yourself apart and Kent along with you. He’s the only one stupid enough to cut himself open for you.” 

Jack feels his heart rip in half. 

“Says the second rate college captain who’s too self destructive to do anything that’s actually good for him,” Jack says tightly. “How does it feel to ruin your own life on a weekly basis? How are you even functioning with your parents supporting you?” 

Bitty tenses, he turns his head enough to give Jack the coldest glare he’s ever seen. 

“I don’t know yet...that’s what I had you for, to hold me back.” 

Bitty slams the hotel door as hard as he possibly can. Jack melts into the bed, sighing in relief as tears stream down his face. He’s free, he thinks. He’s finally free. 

Later, he remembers having two thoughts that night—who’s screaming? And why does he feel so alone?   

**Author's Note:**

> fic title - lyrics from Best Intentions by Hodera
> 
> spoiler alert: things will get better and they will get back together (eventually)


End file.
